When you can't see a person, you are stripping them down and you are seeing their inner spirit. You are talking to their soul.

Loucious Jones doesn’t rely on his cane with the red tip to get around Newark.

He banks on the little vision in his left eye, because he can’t see a thing in the right.

Jones is legally blind, but it’s not a problem when he ambles down the street going door to door.

At each home he approaches, Jones reaches for the railing, feeling for the bell at the top step. If he can’t find it, he’ll knock real hard.

The message is simple for whoever answers or sticks their head out of the window in his neighborhood. Jones tells them where they can go for food and supplies because he knows they’re hurting from Hurricane Sandy.

"I may be blind, but I can hear their voices," he says. "I can see them from my heart."

In the aftermath of this storm, Jones has been a foot soldier on the ground. His wife of 26 years, Sabrina, and their three daughters have been in the streets with him, too.

They’ve crisscrossed Newark looking for gas when lines stretched for blocks. The kids stood with a gaggle of fuel cans while Mom sat in the Expedition for hours. Once they filled up, she gave it to neighbors at no charge. The family generator was free for those without power, their extension cords cutting through backyards and across Richelieu Terrace.

DOOR-TO-DOOR HERO

Loucious Jones

Age: 45Town: NewarkProfession: Real estate agentFun fact: Jones is hilarious. He’ll joke about his vision, telling folks that a good eye day depends on what he eats. "As I get up in age, it depends on what I ate the day before" he said. "If I eat ribs or fried chicken or any of that, I’m blurred up the next day.’’Act of heroism: Walked throughout West Ward neighborhood in Newark, spreading the word to residents about where they could get food and supplies. He got on the phone and rounded up volunteers to pick up food for seniors. He delivered food, riding with other volunteers across the city.

They’ve lost count on gas money spent for others, buying so much their SUV smells like a Hess truck. What they do is not about the limelight, only about the people who need their help.

"When I give, God gives it right back," Jones says. "It’s about the people."

West Ward Councilman Ronald Rice Jr. knew to call Jones after the storm trashed this city. He’s relied on Jones in the past, so this was no different.

"He gets mad if you don’t call him," Rice says.

Jones, a longtime education advocate, jumped in and got the school ready to receive supplies as they were delivered. His wife was in the basement organizing; their oldest daughter, Shamonique, told neighborhood kids they could watch movies and play games if they were bored at home.

When Jones heard South Ward Councilman Ras Baraka had set up a food operation at Speedway Avenue School, he called volunteers to pick up items for seniors. After they ran out of bread for sandwiches, Jones and his wife dug into their pockets again and bought as many loaves as they could find from local bodegas. Something like $90 worth.

WALKING THE WALK

There are people who are designed to go to meetings and fuss, and there are people like Jones who get out and do the work. So he’s been all over the city for days, handing out food, assessing needs, knocking on doors. He avoids streets with downed wires, cracked telephone poles and mammoth trees lying on rooftops.

Noni Ward thanks him for the news about supplies, praising him for what he’s doing.

"If he can get out here and do this, then those of us with good eyes should get out here and help him," she says.

Jones continues on his way, taking the praise, determined to help his residents. Ivy Hill Elementary School has supplies, and he needs the public to know they can go there to get warm and find information about FEMA.

A FAMILY AFFAIR

On days when the light is not so good outside, Jones has help to get the word out. Shamonique drives the family car circling the neighborhood. Her sisters — Jenia, 11, and Diamond, 12 — are on foot with Dad, passing out fliers before it gets dark. They are cold, but they don’t mind pitching in when they could have been home resting.

"I’m doing it for more than myself," Diamond says.

Jones is on his own most of the time, tapping into his radar as an extra set of eyes when something’s not quite right.

He steps carefully to avoid uneven cracks in the sidewalk, his ears keen to sound. Like the fast-moving footsteps of a barking dog that came after him when he opened the front gate of a house.

"Man, that dog was on my heels," Jones says. "I jumped up on top of a car."

The chatter of teenage boys coming up the street catches his attention on another day. He calls out for them to come over, sticking his closed fist out for a pound. The information for them doesn’t change, but he piques their interest and tells them that the gym at the school is open for basketball until 8 p.m.

"Make sure y’all behave yourself, all right?" Jones says.

The boys scatter and Jones is off again, ringing bells, banging on houses when no one answers the front door.

"Up here," says a woman in the window.

Jones looks her way, putting her curiosity to rest with his humor.

"Don’t look at my eyes," he says laughing. "They do what they want to do."

He tells her about the school, then keeps moving until he runs into Ameer Richard on the next block.

JUST TRYING TO HELP

Richard listens to Jones, looking at him oddly. He doesn’t want to be rude, but Jones’ half-closed eyelids make him ask the obvious.

"Bruh, are you blind?" he asks.

Jones smiles, telling Richard he’s just trying to help people.

Richard, like most who meet Jones, is shocked. If it wasn’t for the eyes, Richard says, he could hardly tell because Jones carries himself confidently.

The reaction is not new for Jones when people figure out that he can’t see.

"I just hope they understand that there are people who live this way every day of their lives," he says. "The lights will come back on for the majority of folk out there, but there are people who are living in the dark who will never see the light."

It’s pretty much been that way for Jones since birth.

The right eye was better than the left at one time, but he lost sight altogether in the right eye after he got jumped by a group of kids in high school. Surgery over the years helped out the left eye a bit, but he still needed a guide dog for the past eight years.

His name was Fletcher and he would still be with him today, had it not been for the stolen car that took him out last year. Jones doesn’t like to talk about that much.

He’d rather get by with limited sight now, and faith as his guide. He swings his head from side to side to keep things in front of him, turning slightly to his left to pick up images. It doesn’t slow him down. It only heightens his awareness.

"Losing my sight has been a blessing, because it allows me to see beyond my eyes," Jones says. "I’m seeing and feeling people from the inside."

Jones’ wife no longer worries when he goes door to door. "That’s Mr. Jones," they’ll say. "He must be doing something for the people again.

"They look out for him, and he looks out for them with his mind," she says. "It’s not always about your vision."

After hours of walking the streets, Jones comes back to Ivy Hill Elementary School.

"You see what I see," he says.

People pass him on his good side in front of the building. Lots of people. Some go inside, others leave with water, juice and bananas.